CHAPTER XIV.
At daylight, February 1st, we hove in sight of the Isle ofSt.Helena, the world-renowned prison-rock of Napoleon Bonaparte, the conqueror of Europe. At a distance, this isle looked not unlike other isles, despite its notoriety. As we approached nearer, we found it distinctive in all its features: high, frowning, and almost barren. A strange thing, this, for so low a latitude, within the tropics, where Nature dons her greenest garment, and smiles her sunniest smile: spreading rich and plentiful productions over the earth’s surface. On approaching still nearer, we found fortifications erected, which, as far as I am able to judge, make the island impregnable; though what enemy would care to take the trouble and expense of an expedition against so worthless an object, I cannot imagine. After passing this chain of fortifications, Rupert’s Valley gradually developed itself to our sight, and ensconced on its narrow bosom we saw the city of Jamestown. From the water this town presents quite a creditable appearance. The buildings being of stone, and many of them of goodly size, give an air of solidity and respectability to it, which I for one did not expect to find. On the right of the town, viewed from the sea, is the far-famed Jacob’s Ladder, consisting of I do not know how many steps, hewn out of the solid rock, which affordsthe only means of ingress and egress to the garrison occupying a fort at the summit of the elevation. There is only a single narrow street laid out in the town—the narrowness of the valley not admitting of any farther expansion. On the sides of the acclivities are stone-walls, built for the purposes of travel. They are wide, and admit of the passage of a vehicle upon them; but a misstep will entail upon the unfortunate wight who should make it certain death, as it would precipitate him into an abyss hundreds of feet in depth. Shortly before our arrival an English seaman on liberty, who had been carousing, was suddenly seized with the whim of drinking his brandy on one of these airy places. In pursuance of this phantasy, he procured a bottle of spirits, and, seating himself on the ledge of the wall, with his feet suspended over the chasm, he was enjoying his brandy and his position to his entire satisfaction. He could not be removed by force, as such a proceeding would be productive of imminent danger to him and his rescuers, and as he was proof against persuasion, his shipmates were constrained to allow him to remain in his perilous position, trusting for his preservation in Providence, who assists the seaman out of so many difficulties and dangers. For a time he did very well, and maintained an upright, and consequently a safe position; but, as the spirits he had imbibed began to operate, his body swayed to and fro, and finally, whilst about to take another drink from his bottle, he lost his balance, and was precipitated down, far down, upon the jagged rocks; from whence his body was taken, mangled almost out of the semblance of humanity.
There is no harbor here—ships anchoring in an open seaway unprotected from the winds; but as, during the greater part of the year, this latitude is only visited by the south-east trade wind, a ship may lay in this exposed position with impunity. Some twenty vessels lay at anchor, three of which flew the stars and stripes; one of these was the Messenger, whose crew was ashore on liberty; another was the ship Thomas Glover, of Boston, bound home in a few days. The third, a barque, whose name I did not learn, was in an extremely leaky condition, and her captain, not wishing to have her condemned here, was offering one hundred dollars bounty, and twenty-five dollars per month for each man who would ship aboard to work her home; but if anything else offers Jack Tar is shy about engaging himself aboard a leaky ship, where the pumps are to be kept constantly going, day and night, and, as her semi-water-logged condition renders her unsafe to carry a press of canvass on, the probability is that a passage in her will be an extended one. Then by the time she would get on our coast, heavy weather might be looked for, and it, united with her leaky condition, would render her anything but a comfortable craft.
The other vessels were English, French, Swedish, and Dutch. Inside of all lay a number of condemned vessels, amongst them was the barque Ann, of Sag Harbor, the same vessel we were in company with whilst engaged in whaling on the coast of New Holland. After we left her she proceeded to Desolation, where, from heavy weather, she received severe damages, and, on arriving atSt.Helena, a survey was had upon her and she was condemned. Theother condemned vessels lying here are, for the most part, slavers, captured on the coast of Africa by the British squadron.
It not being our intention to make any stay here, without there was sufficient freight for home to make it an inducement for us so to do, we did not anchor, but stood off and on shore on alternate tacks. The captain lowered away, taking with him the men who came aboard without an agreement at Port Louis, for the purpose of shipping them before the American consul. His principal object, however, was to get letters, which we had directed to be sent here in numberless missives written many miles to the westward, and on this accountSt.Helena has been, for months, the wished-for port. Everybody expecting consecutive letters filling up the void of the last eighteen months, since which time none of us have received news of our families and friends, and, from the many dolorous accounts we have heard of the financial affairs of the country, everyone is interested to know what bearing such a crisis had had upon his connections; hence our anxiety. After many injunctions to send the boat off that night, the captain departed. We patiently waited until sundown, when, no boat approaching, we began to be uneasy. An hour later, we were chafing, almost the whole crew were walking decks in an excited, uneasy manner; and, although they did not curse the old man, they invoked anything but blessings upon his head, innocent though he was. Next morning, when the boat arrived, we found that from some misconception of orders, we should have stood in, when we stood off, shore; and, consequently, thethird mate was kept chasing us in his boat from nightfall until three o’clock in the morning, when, giving up the pursuit as hopeless, he went aboard the Messenger, and, with his wearied crew, turned in.
On the letters being brought forth, I found that I had four; one of August, 1855, left here by a ship that had carried it about the ocean for years—the other three were of May, July, and November, 1858; this last was inexpressibly welcome to me, as it brought everything down to a comparatively late date, assuring me of a warm welcome home whenever I did arrive. Of this, however unworthy, I had never doubted; but it is a weakness of our nature to take delight in the rehearsal of pleasant facts. The chief topic of interest, after being assured of the welfare of my connections, and one that astonished and, to some extent, perplexed me, was the birth of a niece, a child of my younger brother. This was the first intelligence I had of his marriage, which, however, was not unexpected; I had looked forward to it as a matter of course; but that he should be blessed with issue ere I returned, never once crossed my mind—though why, I know not. At first, I could scarce believe it; but there it was, in black and white, the plainness of the chirography forbidding a doubt of its authenticity; so there was nothing left for me to do but to sit down and acknowledge myself taken all aback by the intelligence. After a few minutes reflection, I could not but laugh at my stupidity, or inadvertency, in never having made a provision in my mind for such a contingency; however, so wags the world; improbable events arefostered by the imagination, whilst probable ones are allowed, through inattention, to escape notice.
After having thoroughly read over my letters, I had leisure to think of my companions. Some, I could see by the expression of the eyes, and nervous exhilarated step, had received good news from home; others, by their troubled air, displayed their reception of unwelcome tidings; whilst those who had received none, either walked alone with compressed lip and lowering brow, refusing all sympathy, or strove by an affected gayety to laugh off the carelessness of their people in not writing.
As the reception of a letter from home, by the seaman, after a long cruise, exhilarates, and encourages him, developing all the best principles of his nature, so, on the other hand, the least inattention or slight on the part of his friends, depresses him; and, on arriving in port where he has long expected intelligence; on being disappointed he goes ashore and is ready to engage in any dissipation, apologizing to himself for his departure from virtue, by the reflection that nobody cares for him, or else they would take the trouble to write to him. Mark a case in point. One of our crew, a Massachusetts boy nearly approaching to manhood, had, for months, talked and thought of nothing but his news and letters from home atSt.Helena. He had, to my knowledge, written some twenty-five letters; heretofore he had received no letters from home, but thought, of course, they had written, and their missives were aboard ships we had not seen. Meantime, he had been at work for months, manufacturing trinkets and other articles from ivory, for the purpose of presentingthem to his friends and relatives. On arriving atSt.Helena, there was not a word or line from home for him. I never saw a person so depressed; his trinkets were given away or sold, and he asserted it as his firm determination, when he did land in the United States, not to go home.
Mothers who wish to keep their sons in the path of virtue, and sisters who cherish a brother’s memory, when far away upon the sea, would do well to bear this fact in mind, and be careful to write, so that at every civilized port the object of their solicitude may receive intelligence from home; this, by a little inquiry at the outset of the voyage, can be easily arranged. It does not make so much difference about the reception of letters at sea, for there but few temptations to the grosser paths of sin are experienced; but when, after a long and arduous cruise, his ship enters port, he feels need of relaxation, and, unless reminded of home and kindred, he easily falls a prey to the wiles of the courtezan and the publican, who are ever on the alert to entrap the unwary and inexperienced.
But it is time that I should return to my original topic—the consideration of the Island ofSt.Helena and its residents. Not having had opportunity to go ashore myself, I must see it through the eyes of others and describe it from their lips. Here comes the boat’s crew; it consists of six, who, although dressed alike and of the same country, vastly differ in sentiment. First, we will ask the less refined of the lot—those two whose reckless, careless air, bespeak them jovial, hearty fellows, ever ready for a lark without thinking of or caring for consequences—theiranswer to my inquiry as to what kind of place it was, being characteristic of their class (which is largely represented in the whaling fleet), “That Jamestown is a sailor’s paradise.” “Why so, my hearty?” “Because there is neither lack of women nor wine.”
We will now turn to the next comer; he is a Western man, from Milwaukie, Wisconsin, of Scotch parentage, has been with us all the voyage, and is one of the best and most reliable men in the ship; to a naturally strong mind, he unites an acute perception of men and manners, and, withal, a high moral tone pervades all he says and does.
His statement was, that on going ashore he found a stepping-stone, some twenty feet in width, in front of the town, for the convenience of boats landing; they pulled to it and landed, but the swell continually heaving in, rendered it impossible to moor the boat without certainly calculating on her being stoven; so a couple of the boys, of whom numbers were swarming along ashore, were entrusted with her, and our fellows went on a cruise about the town. He described the town as not unlike other colonial cities, with the usual number of government buildings, and red-coated soldiery standing guard, as if to keep these massive stone heaps from escaping. The inhabitants were of all colors, from black to white, each moving in its particular sphere. The blacks are slaves, captured by British cruisers, and sent here to labor and pay the expenses of their capture. Some months since, a cargo of six hundred of these Africans was landed in Rupert’s Valley; they were awarded by the Government a twelvemonths’ stay atSt.Helena; atthe expiration of the year they were to be sent to the British West Indian possessions to be disposed of as apprentices. The other inhabitants ofSt.Helena are bitterly opposed to the introduction of these creatures into their quiet island, stating that they are indolent and insolent to an extreme degree, and are firmly persuaded that the island is a part of Africa and belongs to them. The inhabitants have petitioned the queen for their removal, but she has declined complying with their request.
D.’s principal object in going ashore was to deliver several letters, which had been handed to him by natives ofSt.Helena, on board ships in the Indian Ocean. One of the parties he found, and made a mother’s heart glad by tidings of the good health of her son; after perusing it, she loaded the bearer of the missive with thanks. Another party, for whom he had a letter, was dead; this was from a son who had not seen home or parents for six years. I heard him speak of his home and his anticipated return; but, alas! he will find a cheerless hearthstone—his parents dead, and none but strangers to yield him sympathy.
These people, or rather those who are natives, are brunettes. A number of the children, who were on our vessel, seemed to be perfectly at home upon the water. Their voices are peculiarly sweet, and we were enlivened by these youngsters singing a number of whaling and naval songs; and the spirit with which they entered into the performance, rendered a prophecy of their future callings in life a matter of certainty and easy augury.
I have before me theSt.Helena Almanac for 1858,which contains much information regarding the island—its trade, and inhabitants. From it I learn that the population numbers five thousand four hundred and ninety souls, and to attend to the health of this population, there is but one doctor of medicine; so here is a fair held for any Yankee disciple of Esculapius who wishes for employment, and does not object to leaving home to find it.
The amount of importation for the year 1856, reached the sum of one hundred and one thousand five hundred and sixty-two pounds, of which one-fourth was through American whaleships engaged in the South Sea fishery; the balance was from all parts of the world. The exports for the same time amounted to twenty-four thousand nine hundred and twenty-five pounds, twenty-two thousand five hundred and eighty-five pounds of which was to the United States. These facts show the importance of the whaling trade to the revenue of the island.
This book also contains information relative to the government-officers, the various churches, the telegraph department, &c., of the island; yet, as we are in a hurry to get homeward, we will not tarry for the consideration of further statistics, but return to our ship.
On the afternoon of the 2d inst., having ran close in to land, we were becalmed and in imminent risk of going ashore; but by lowering the boats and strenuously pulling we managed to get the ship’s head pointed seaward. A light breeze springing up, we were soon relieved from our apprehensions. At 6¹⁄₂ o’clock P. M. the captain came off, and immediately the order was given to square away forhome. Every one at once turned-to with a will: the yards were manned in a twinkling; studdingsail booms and studdingsail rigging were rigged and rove aloft and alow, until the masts wore, as it were, an entire sheet of canvass from the royal yards to the deck, extending twice or thrice our beam, and assisting to the utmost our expeditious return. But the wind was aft and light, and our ship by no means kept pace with our impatient desires. Yet directly onward she made her way, unmarked by incident, until within a few degrees of the Equator. Here the doldorums (those pests of the homeward-bound!) occasioned a delay which well nigh again exhausted our patience. These doldorums are neither one thing nor the other: they are not positive calms, neither are they gales. For instance, one may wake at sunrise, find a pleasant breeze blowing, the wind fair, sky clear, and not a sign in the horizon on which to base a supposition of change: under this impression he will lounge around, congratulate himself on the ship’s progress, and occupy his mind with thoughts of home; but, pausing, he glances to the sails, and finds them flapping from the scarcity of wind; and awakened from his reverie by the cheerless booming of the canvass, he directs his attention to the horizon, and finds haze or clouds in every quarter, portending squalls, either of rain or wind. A minute later, the flapping sail is hard aback, with a contrary wind; torrents of rain are falling; squall follows squall, in rapid succession, each from a different point—and thus they continue, until, having boxed the compass in the course of an hour, the ship returns to her former position, and lazily drags herself along forawhile, when the same scenes re-occur, and so alternate day after day. For ten days were we in irons, (as seamen term our situation,) during the whole of which time we made no more than ten degrees—an average of two and a half miles per hour: a pace that was far too slow to be easily endured by men who had been for forty-four months past looking forward to this passage with such intense interest. No idea of the uneasiness (I can use no better word) of the crew can be formed by a person who has never witnessed a ship’s company situated precisely as we were. Every mile—every degree of the course was accurately measured and counted. All who were capable might have been seen, with quadrant in hand, taking the sun’s altitude, working up the ship’s time, comparing one day’s run with another, and guessing what the performance of the next twenty-four hours would be; whilst those not possessed of a quadrant watched with peering eyes for the moment that would reveal the result of the operator’s calculations. On turning out, before donning their apparel, the first questions of the watch below, were—how is the wind? how many knots is she going? what is the latitude? what the longitude?—all delivered in a breath. If the answer was, “She is going along some eight or nine knots an hour,” the interrogator took a long inspiration, thus evincing his relief and inward satisfaction, and would then say, “Pull, girls, pull!” But if the ship was plunging, and the spars and rigging creaking from the pressure of their snow-white pinions, he would be delighted; and, jumping on deck to assure himself that everything was drawing, he would chuckle forth, in the height of his glee,“Give it to her, old boy! She is all oak. She knows where she is bound to; so, pack on your tappa—she will hear it!” If some one remarked that she was heeled down very much, and sail was being dragged instead of carried, he was hooted at for a soldier, and sent to the cook to learn seamanship. If the officer of the deck started away or took in any sail, he was maligned for a milksop, and fated to hear lots of grumbling, together with the advice, given to him in an undertone, that he should stay at home, when he got there, and send his big sister to sea to carry sail for him.
To obviate this uneasiness, many plans were resorted to, and the true one was at length hit upon: the infallible one of labor. All hands seemed suddenly transformed into a colony of curiosity-hunters. One would be seen with a box of shells, cleaning them; another with a Madagascar spear, polishing it, so as to be presentable; whilst others had articles of ivory, bone, and wood, and were busily employed in improving their appearance, so as to render them more creditable to the donor. Every man in the ship had more or less of this description of articles; the greater part of which had been constructed aboard from the jaws and teeth of the sperm whales. Our occupation with these things continued not only for hours, but for days, and in some instances whole weeks.
Thus the time glided on, until we found ourselves hurried along by the northeast trades. These delightful winds we encountered when but two degrees to the northward of the line; and during their continuance we had nothing to grumble at, as we had afair wind and plenty of it. From the testimony of former voyagers, who had run up and down these trades, we expected that we would be favored with their continuance until we should arrive in latitude 23 or 24° north; but in this, like in most of our other pleasant anticipations, we were disappointed. When we reached the fourteenth parallel of north latitude, they had almost ceased; and then, forgetful of their benefits, we grumbled at their scarce more than ephemeral existence. I well remember the expression of one of our crew, delivered with approved bitterness of spirit. The occasion of this was a mid watch at night, when all of the starboard watch were grouped together by the windlass, discussing our experience of the variability of the winds, while destined to some port or other in the course of the voyage. The speaker, having heard the opinions of several others, stepped into the center of the little knot, and, with an emphatic gesture of the hand, said: “Shipmates! it is no use talking: we are fated to meet with nothing but foul winds and head-beat seas until we get home, and then the bad luck that has kept us company for the past forty-four months may leave us. But there is, and has been, a Jonah in the ship the whole voyage, from the time we left New Bedford. The first we saw of it was in the Eliza Carrew’s coming in contact with us; next, sperm whaling off New Holland. When bound to Balli we had a head wind; bound to the Australian Bight we had one of the dirtiest of dirty passages. To New Zealand we made a first-rate passage; but, when there, what was our fortune? To get scarce any oil, and lose one of ourbest men! Then, bound from there to Hobartown, we had the wind smack in our teeth for two weeks, when, with a favorable breeze, we should have performed the run in three or four days. Our ill-success in whaling to the southward, and on our visit to the Abrolhas’, is too glaring to need particularization. Our passage to Mauritius was but a drawl, from the lightness of the winds. In doubling the Cape we were Jacksoned a week—at the line the same ill-fortune attended us. Now we have lost the northeast trades a week before we ought to. Add to these our other malexperiences, such as men falling from aloft, boats capsized and stoven, a sperm whale’s head lost. And, to crown all, here we are, bound on to the North American coast in the worst month of the year, with an unremunerative voyage. Now, in the name of reason! how any one can expect good luck in the face of this category I cannot understand: as for myself, I cannot.” And, with a gloomy shake of the head, the speaker concluded, folded his arms across his breast, and seemed resigned to the hard fate he had depicted for himself. His manner, however, was such as to convince the most casual observer that his was a spirit to combat manfully whatever further misfortunes might befall us, through accident or any other cause. The whole bearing of the man, in fact, showed a perfect confidence in the ability of himself and his shipmates to resist every tide of evil the great Neptune might send. His enumeration of our ill-successes heretofore made his argument almost unanswerable; but still I essayed to administer some consolation by quoting the old adage, “it is always darkest before day,” and addingthat from the fact of our former misadventures we might reasonably look forward for corresponding good ones in the future. Yet I awakened no sympathetic chord in the bosoms of my auditors. My predecessor had something tangible to base his prediction upon: a something, which, through its familiarity to the minds of all, appealed directly to their hearts; and, although I took the other side, I must confess that I myself was almost convinced there was more probability in his than in my theory. I felt, indeed, that our past crosses were sure prestiges of still more to come.
It may be supposed by some that such a conversation and prediction would have a gloomy effect on the minds of persons with such vivid imaginations as seamen; but, fortunately, (or unfortunately, whichever it may be,) in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred neither good nor evil makes any more lasting impression on their minds than water does upon a duck’s back. For the moment, they become absorbed in the topic of that moment; but look at them an instant later, you will see the same careless bearing, and hear the merry jest passed around as gleefully as ever. Verily, there is need of a “sweet little cherub to sit up aloft, and keep up a watch over the life of Jack Tar”; for he will not look out for himself. This very thoughtlessness, however, renders him all the more useful aboard ship. Many times, if he should pause to think of the danger to himself in the performance of a particular duty, his hesitation would bring destruction upon the ship and its inmates. For instance, it is blowing heavily: a topsail is clewed up—the ship will not bear it, andthe sail is flapping in a manner which will destroy it in a few minutes, for it is sweeping abaft the yard. (Now this is the only topsail that can be depended upon in case the ship on arriving at the coast should be jammed on a lee-shore: for then nothing could be saved except by its proper management and use.) Jack knows that under precisely these circumstances hundreds of seamen have been torn from the foot-rope while in the line of their duty, and hurled into the sea, when the fury of the elements precluded the possibility of an attempt to save them. Perchance in his last ship such an accident occurred: mayhap his messmate was swept from the same yardarm he himself was on. But he does not stop to think of all this: he springs into the rigging, climbs to the yard, gets a foothold, and (at every step forced to throw the sail over his head) arrives at the earing, when his task becomes comparatively easy. Little by little he gathers up, passing his gasket, and securing the sail, until all is snugly lashed along the yard in such a manner that the wind has no effect upon it. His task now done, he descends to the deck, as if nothing more than the most ordinary occupation had been his; and he is ready and willing to go aloft again, if necessity demands it.
It is ever thus at sea. The seaman’s life, day by day, hour by hour, is exposed to peril, now in one form, now in another: from the heavy sea sweeping the ship, the unruly canvas, the defective spar. The wheel may throw and maim him, a stranded rope precipitate him to the deck; or, in laying out of a tempestuous night upon the jib or flying-jib boom he may miss his footing: he falls into the sea, theship passes over him!—Jack has furled his last sail, and dies far from home and friends, without a tombstone to mark his resting-place: his body at the mercy of the wave, whilst his spirit, we hope, ascends to a better and happier state of existence, where he anchors in a bright haven of peace, in vivid contrast with his life on earth, or rather on the sea.
God help the sailor! is the prayer of all who wish him well. And God does help him, or else his would indeed be a comfortless existence. The Creator gives him a merry heart, and a brave one too. The former enables him to meet cheerfully the many discomforts incident to his profession, whilst the latter prevents him from perceiving danger and destruction in every blast that sweeps the ocean: together, they incite him to hope almost against hope, and continue his exertions in the storm, until absolute destruction overwhelms him. Who ever heard of a seaman’s giving up in despair, even when the merest thread of hope only remained? None. No, they are manly to the last; and they always have at least the proud satisfaction of having performed their duty, even though their exertions were all in vain. The pleasant poetess, Miss Eliza Cook, has done them but justice, when she says,
“The dark-blue jacket that enfolds the sailor’s manly breastBears more of real honor than the star and ermine vest.The tithe of folly in his head may wake the landsman’s mirthBut Nature proudly owns him as her child of sterling worth.”
Some persons ashore may think that I have allowed my feelings to carry me away, and that in writing of a class of men, endeared to me by association and a participationin the vicissitudes of their everyday life, I have fallen into a rhapsody, or employed rodomontade; whilst not a few readers will think that I have merely blown my own horn. Yet I will appeal for corroboration of all I have written to those who have seen Jack Tar on his proper element: whether, on the sea, he does not display some of the noblest traits of humanity—not merely physical excellencies, but high moral qualities? Whether he is not there the most patient and courageous of human beings? Whether he does not sing the same in storm or calm, and unflinchingly meet all hardships with a cheerful spirit? I feel assured that all who have thus seen him will attest to his good qualities. Ashore he is not the same creature. The only apology I can offer for his excesses here is, that such are naturally prompted by the liberation of his buoyant spirit,—with a hardy frame and hot blood—from a long confinement and abstinence aboard ship. It is from sheer wantonness that he exults in the commission of his thousand-and-one frivolities; but which seldom leads him into the perpetration of any criminal act.
But, let us take a sober second view of this matter, and see whether Jack’s follies—crimes, too, if you please—are altogether of his own immoral brewing. Of course there can be no question of this, if we use the cold-blooded formal argument of the self-sufficient man, which is, that inasmuch as he, like all the rest of mankind, is a free agent, his shortcomings and misdeeds must necessarily be voluntary, and therefore he alone should be held responsible for them. But, I would ask, does not society in a measureassist in his demoralization? Are not its respectable avenues closed to the foremast hand? Fathers and mothers of families, do you, in your philanthropic moods, extend to the seaman the same warm welcome into your families as you do to the landsman? Does he, landing in a strange port, find those who take him into the society of the virtuous, and thus place before him the opportunity of passing his hours rationally, and so endeavor to prevent his becoming the victim of irksome idleness, in whose train there usually is such an execrable brood of ills? No!—I can answer from experience—you do not. In your stead, out of consideration for his hard earnings, the harlot and the publican meet him at every landing, and with Judas-like greetings prevail on him to his destruction.
“Nobody cares for me!” one will hear from at least one-half the inmates of every forecastle, and in the greater proportion of such cases it is really too true. If the seaman has no immediate relatives, he finds those whom he meets ashore solicitous to make his acquaintance only for the sake of their own profit. To be sure, Seamen’s Homes, Bethels, and Aid Societies, have done much, very much. God forbid! that I should say a word that could be construed into a disparagement of the efforts of these noble and benevolent institutions. But there is something more than these needed to reclaim the outcast seaman for society, and teach him truly that he has a character to maintain, as well as an abiding interest in the commonwealth. In fact, to effect a permanent amelioration of his condition, he must in his youth be educated and disciplined with a viewto his profession, become accustomed to revere the ties and restraints of home and society, and be fully imbued with the principles of national citizenship.
In this humane work, the influence of the gentler sex is vitally essential. The time has long gone by when the seaman (the American seaman in particular) was a rude, uncouth being—half fish, half man: apparelled in a blue jacket and tarpaulin hat; his cheek pouched out with a great chew of tobacco; his walk a swagger, and his language redolent of oaths and tar. Such is a picture of Jack that has been drawn (from time immemorial) by too many authors, whose very particularizing, however, discloses to the initiated their ignorance of the subject. Your true sailor, from the general stigma that attaches to his class ashore, rather inclines to conceal, than make an unnecessary display of his calling. I have now been afloat almost four years; in one place or another, met with at least ten thousand seamen, principally belonging to our mercantile and whaling marine; and, although closely observing their habits, manners, and peculiarities, I never saw the original of the false picture above presented—a familiar one, it is true, to the readers of the yellow-covered nautical romances of the day. So, ladies, you need not fear, that, in urging you to extend a cordial greeting to Jack, I desire to favor the introduction of a boorish clown into your refined circles. But I will leave that to your own fair judgments. Compare him with the landsman: ten to one, you will place them on an equality; and, if you have a sparkling of romance in your character, you will give the Tar the preference.
To your parents, dear ladies, I would particularly address myself, and say to them: it is your duty (I speak plainly) to hasten this important matter, by which a noble class of your fellow-men may be so greatly benefitted, both here and hereafter. Do not fear, that by the introduction of the sailor into your families, you would nurse an adder, who would take advantage of your courtesy, and either corrupt your daughters, or entice your sons from home into his own perilous pursuit. His high appreciation and admiration of virtue will secure for the female portion of your family a degree of respect and attention from him, that would be looked upon by the young bucks of the present day with wonder and contempt; whilst his plain matter-of-fact and common-sense descriptions of the sea and its perils, hardships and pleasures, would divest the subject of the glowing imagery with which it is clothed by the fertile fancy of your youthful son, and thus enable him to see it in its true light. If the latter should then, however, still be anxious to barter the comforts and luxuries of home for the discomforts and privations of the sea, let him go! He was cut out for a sailor, and will sooner or later arrive at eminence in the profession of his well-advised choice.
But how, (methinks I hear you ask,) and by what means, is this good work to be accomplished? It is quite easy, says another I imagine, to see and describe the need of such a proceeding; but how is it to be done? My answer is: I have accomplished what I originally intended, namely, to indicate the great good to be done by such a movement. It would be presumption, on the part of so young aman as myself, to point out the means by which it may be effected. Older and wiser heads are now engaged in this good work: men of much experience and pure, active Christianity. But, if these should fail, or wish my views, I will not hesitate to furnish my opinions and plans at some future day, and with great pleasure respectfully submit them to their consideration.